by Perry Rhodan
Deringhouse watched them unobtrusively and Rous stepped before the camera to cover the two young people with his bulky body.
The small egg-shaped bomb, no longer than the product of a chicken, found its way into the pocket of Tiffs pants.
At this point Sergeant Rous began to bark: "How dare you take such liberties with this girl, Cadet Tifflor?" he raged, while winking an eye. "Miss Orsons, go at once to your cabin. I'll have to reprimand you for disorderly conduct while on duty. Break it up!"
Breathing fire, Milly disengaged herself from Tiffs arms, much to his regret. Never before had he been so close to her. At the same time Rous whispered quickly into his ear: "Listen, Tiff. This is a thermobomb with effective duration of 15 minutes. It releases only heat with an average of 250,00° in the inner ball of gas. Time fuse is set for exactly one hour. Deposit it somewhere during your next interrogation over there and note precise time. Then come back. Make excuses. Ask for time to think everything over in our surroundings. Is that clear? Any questions?"
This was on par for the audacious men of the space pursuit commando. Rous and Deringhouse had cooked up a daring scheme. Naturally the cadets and the girls, too, collaborated enthusiastically. The commander couldn't have wished for better teamwork.
Tiff went along spontaneously. Now he saw the reason Hifield had provoked the altercation. He had to give him credit: he certainly had put on a splendid show. This was right up his alley.
"O.K." Tiff said with a taut voice. "I'll have to go back soon. I'll find a way. What happens when the bomb explodes?"
"That'll be the signal for us to get into the act. There are exactly 23 guards on board. The girls have counted them. We'll be able to handle those. First we'll get back the Command Center, then everything else will fall in place. Watch the long-barreled thermoguns these goons have. Those things work with needle-thin impulsebeams, generating very little heat except on the spot they hit. Seem to be shielded from thermal side effects. Great guns. We're going to get ourselves some of them. We've got it all worked out. That's all. Hifield must stop it now."
It had taken only a few seconds. They could be certain that it was impossible to be overheard during their whispered exchange of information in the deafening racket.
Hifield received a barely noticeable sign. At the next blow he finally was knocked out and stayed down.
The guards were jubilant. The spectacle seemed to cater to their taste. A few minutes later calm had been restored in the mess hall. The crew was smilingly admonished by the Springers to let them know in time about any imminent fights so that they could get in on the fun.
With a sinister smile Deringhouse's eyes followed the bearded giants. "Please take care of Hifield," he asked the girls. Milly and Felicita Kergonen helped the moaning cadet get back on his feet. His opponent licked his lacerated lips.
"Since nobody got too badly hurt in this row, I'm willing to dispense with punishment in view of our present predicament," Deringhouse stated stiffly. A certain tone in his voice made everybody understand that Tiff had the Arkonide microbomb in his pocket. Nothing but a molten mass boiling away in a steaming cloud of gas would remain of the merchant ship as soon as it was set off.
Tiff could feel his forehead break out in sweat. Spasmodically he took, part in the dragging conversation. After awhile the bell rang in the automatic kitchen. The prisoners were not deprived of all luxuries, only of their freedom.
Deringhouse was firmly determined to remedy this situation very soon. He hoped desperately that Perry Rhodan, who was still waiting in space in the vicinity of Pluto's orbit, would find a way to get them out of their unfortunate dilemma.
Tiff began to relate in a monotonous voice what he had learned about the Springers while he was waiting for things to happen.
One hour after mealtime the hatch was opened again and Tiff was called for his second cross-examination.
He left quietly and composed. The pale face of a girl was lingering in his memory.
A pressure equalization energy field had been introduced between the two airlocks, enabling Tiff to float effortlessly across without his spacesuit. The artificially produced gravitation on either spaceship couldn't be felt between the two.
Expecting the worst, he boarded the other ship. The K7 was still imprisoned in the powerful gravobeam of the huge ship. Droning machines were proof of their unwillingness to let the swift K7 escape from their clutches.
Orlgans was without question a fine businessman, if such a term could be applied to a galactic trader.
He was also an excellent tactician and psychologist. Less intelligent and strong-willed men than Tiff would soon have succumbed to his many temptations.
Perhaps Tiff was aided by the fact that he really didn't know anything about the economic plans of the New Power. Gradually his suspicion had grown that Perry Rhodan was using him as a decoy to seize the unknown conspirators.
Orlgans didn't seem overly concerned with the illusory economic plan. He was apparently smart enough to know that a man like Tiff could never carry it all in his head. Maybe some rough values but not the all-important details.
Therefore Orlgans didn't insist on questions pertaining to this matter. Instead he kept probing with increasing obstinacy the subject of the 'World of Immortal Life'. In doing so, he put Tifflor on a grave spot, as he could not be convinced that the cadet had no real knowledge of the facts relating thereto.
He took two hours to conduct a pleasant tour of his ship for Tifflor. However Julian was not very impressed by the armament. The weapons couldn't even stand comparison with, those of the K7. On the other hand Orla XI boasted very powerful and modem drive engines. There were a number of special installations that had been exclusively developed by the scientists of the Springers.
Orlgans pointed out in passing that this was only an armed merchant ship whose weapons were completely adequate for most of the primitive worlds they visited. For more recalcitrant cases they could always rely on the specialized armada of the Springers for help.
Tiff was unceremoniously pushed into the last room. When the captain entered the room he abruptly dropped every pretense of politeness and solicitous fatherly behavior. After being treated as one of the family for hours, Julian suddenly looked into cold, ruthless eyes.
"We call this machine a psychodissolver," Orlgans explained menacingly. "The brain of any living being is destroyed in the process but all facts are extracted from its memory. We use this machine for insubordinate people withholding essential information from us. I'll give you three more hours by your own clock. If you haven't changed your mind by then, your head will be put into the hood of the machine. Now we can leave again, my dear young mikoa."
Suddenly Orlgans melted into profuse cordiality. He almost carried the teetering, browbeaten cadet out of the room. He escorted him back to the first cabin, located near the forward end of the long ship close to the command center. Before Orlgans left, Tiff took his chance. He implored Orlgans and stammered: "Sir, would you allow me to return to our ship to think this over? Please don't leave me in these strange surroundings. Here I don't feel so..."
"Of course, of course," Orlgans interrupted exuberantly. "Just a minute, my young friend, I'll call your escort."
Tiff began to sweat blood as the bearded giant walked out to the long hallway to shout for the guards posted outside.
Tiff took the microbomb out of his pocket. He felt that there was no point in concealing it somewhere else, since it would've been found anyway if he was searched. He pulled out the safety pin, depressed the trigger for the time-release until it sharply clicked into position and let the diabolical egg roll under a couch. It came to rest against the wall with a dull thud.
He had barely enough time to straighten up before the two guards came in.
"How pale you look," Orlgans said with pseudo-sympathy. "I'll see you again in three hours, young Terkoa."
This was a convenient reason for Tiff to look at his chronometer. It was exactly 17 hours and 5
8 minutes by the clock on board the K7. The bomb was going to blow up at 18:58 o'clock. Or, to be precise, five seconds before that, when he had started the time release.
Following mechanically he was brought back by the two guards. When he entered the mess ball he sank ashen-faced into a chair. Deringhouse looked at him expectantly.
Tiff nodded imperceptibly and added naturally: "They've detained me exactly till 17:58 o'clock. Orlgans has given me three hours for reflection."
Rous' face relaxed and the men exchanged glances. Deringhouse began to figure out the next step. Five minutes before the critical time Hifield was to start another fracas.
Deringhouse laid his plans carefully. It wouldn't look suspicious to construe the second round of fisticuffs as revenge. Then they'd have to induce all four guards who were posted outside the mess hall to come into the room. The other Springers were stationed in other parts of the ship. It had to work.
Deringhouse walked slowly around the big room and stopped before one of the observation screens. "Isn't the weather beautiful out there?" he said broadly. The stars scintillated coldly. They gave no answer.
• • •
It was exactly 18:53 o'clock when Hifield went on another rampage. His old nemesis had pestered him with inflaming taunts. The scuffle commenced on the second. The bomb was scheduled to be detonated in five minutes and the guards would be overpowered simultaneously.
The sentries appeared in the hatch about half a minute after the tumultuous noise had started. Again they watched the show with glee and didn't notice that 12 strong men got behind their backs. The group was carefully selected. Even these gigantic men were no match for them.
Deringhouse kept a wary eye on the thermoweapons of the Springers. Meanwhile Hifield kept up the fight with well-aimed punches.
Tiff was also ready to jump into the fray. His eyes were glued to the chronometer.
Two more minutes to go. Rous came slowly closer. Hifield was swinging wildly and the Springers cheered loudly.
"Join my group," Tiff heard the Sergeant whisper. "We're going to take over the Command Center."
Rous drew back again. The men behind the Springers were in position to jump them. It was coordinated with high precision. At the same instant as the four guards were overwhelmed and their weapons changed hands, an atomic cloud would mushroom inside Orla XI putting it out of action so that no help would be forthcoming for the guards. The subsequent rapid vaporization of all conductors would result without delay in the dissipation of the field they were fenced in.
Thirty seconds to zero. The roar of the crowd of spectators reached a fever pitch. It was their way of giving vent to their tension.
Fifteen seconds before zero the team of 12 men sprang into action, four to each guard. Metallic objects from the adjacent robot kitchen crashed down on the skulls of the bearded men. They collapsed instantly, almost without a sound.
Deringhouse rushed forward, Rous and Tiff followed him. They'd already grabbed the weapons at the opportune moment.
Everything was going as planned. The shouting continued but the squads raced out through the open hatch.
They spotted one of the sentries. Deringhouse fired while running. The hissing of the long-barreled weapon was followed by a cry. Then the giant keeled over.
"Spread out!" Deringhouse shouted. "Rous, up to the Command Center!"
As they ran up the emergency stairs they heard a sharp wailing noise. It was not like the sound Tiff had expected to hear. The hull of the K7 started to vibrate. It was 18:59 o'clock.
"What's the matter with your bomb?" Rous screamed, beside himself. His face was suddenly distorted.
"Damn it, why doesn't the thing blow up?"
Tiff could've cried. Up front Deringhouse was hit by an energyshot and collapsed. Behind him appeared bearded figures firing wildly at everything that moved.
"Get back!" Deringhouse groaned, "for God's sake get back."
They dragged him back to the mess hall. Something had gone awry. Seconds later the ship began to sway more and more and the men began to feel the first effects on their bodies. Before they realized that their adversaries had enveloped the entire K7 in a turbulent vibration zone despite the presence of their own men on board, they began to moan in pains.
Each single cell seemed to be bent on performing a wild dance under the ever-increasing amplitudes.
Hifield was the first to drop the weapon he had wrested from the Springers. Tiff, Rous and Martin came next.
When the wailing became more than their ears could stand, the men writhed on the floor in agony. The guards didn't fare much better but the crew of the K7 had at last ceased their shooting.
"What went wrong with that confounded bomb?" Rous gasped before he lost consciousness.
Tiff was frantic. His bead threatened to burst before he, too, sank into a coma. It had all been so futile. Something had fouled up their elaborate plans.
• • •
This time Orlgans was brandishing a weapon. He stood before Major Deringhouse with his feet wide apart, staring coldly at him. The shot had gone right through Deringhouse's thigh but left nasty bums in and around the wound.
Deringhouse didn't care to play the hero. Since everybody knew that he suffered intolerable pains it would have been senseless not to moan if it gave him only a second's relief.
The other men of the crew stood against the wall of the mess hall. More than 30 lethal weapons were trained on them.
When the men had regained consciousness, Orlgans was already in the room. "Who hatched out this harebrained scheme?" the Captain demanded again. "You?"
Deringhouse grinned through his pain, grunting harshly: "Of course. Who else should but the Commander?"
Orlgans couldn't control his wrath. He kicked Deringhouse's cot. The injured man winced in pain.
Milly Orsons cried out in angry protest at this callous action. Orlgans ignored her and moved toward Tifflor. Julian could feel the hot breath of the giant. Orlgans was boiling mad. Obviously he knew very
well that he had escaped total destruction by only a hair. But how?
The explanation turned out to be very simple and rather ridiculous.
"Your conniving hypocrite rolled a bomb under the couch. Well, you forgot that we're meticulously clean people. Each time after we use a cabin it's janitored by robots. Isn't it too bad they found your little surprise and deactivated it?"
Tiff uttered a tormented groan when he saw the huge shadow closing in on him. He collapsed under the terrible blow of Orlgans' fist. He wasn't conscious to witness the revolt that almost broke out.
• • •
When he awoke, Tiff saw Deringhouse lying next to him in the sickbay. The commander's wound was neatly bandaged. The girls were busy with some chores. Deringhouse was awake and regarding Tiff. "Take it easy, kid. It's alright—we got off lucky this time."
"Sir, it wasn't my fault," Tiff stammered in dismay. "How was I to know that..."
"That those robots could just as well have started cleaning five minutes later," Deringhouse joked. "Not another word out of you. It was a great idea but it backfired. So—accidents happen. Go back to sleep. you've suffered a brain concussion. Lord, if that lout doesn't throw a mean punch!"
Tiff's tired eyes obediently started to close again but just before they did he mumbled, "What are we going to do now, sir?"
Deringhouse replied softly, don't worry, something will come up. Or do you think the Chief has gone into retirement with the Stardust ? you've got to rest now—that's an order, cadet Tifflor!"
Tiff saw red rings before his eyes and in one of them the vast outline of the superbattleship emerged. If it appeared on the scene for real, it would make the Springers stop laughing. In his heart, Tiff was sure of it.
At any rate,his mission was fulfilled. And he knew something else in his heart: Perry Rhodan would not fail.
2/ Danger In Cosmic Space
Cadet Julian Tifflor looked at his watch. It took a second until he prope
rly attributed the quivering of its hands to his own unsteady eyes. He gulped convulsively as he stepped before the mirror to take a last look at his uniform.
Of course he wanted to appear before his Chief in an impeccable state with radiohelmet and handgun in high polish.
"A little jittery, aren't you?" somebody asked. Tifflor winced. His brown eyes seemed to be on fire.
Humphry Hifield, a towheaded type without inhibitions or overt hangups, lolled on his foam rubber couch. He knew exactly where his strength lay compared to Tifflor. Whereas Tiff was a recognized mathematical genius, Hifield was proud of having emerged as boxing champion in the recent fights. To his mind cosmic math and fisticuffs ranked about the same. It was Tiff's misfortune that he had to share the same room with Hifield of all people.
"Take it easy, boys," Cadet Eberhardt warned sharply. He was the third occupant of the room. He went over to Tifflor, who was panting and pulling on his tight belt. Tiffs momentary anger had already ebbed away. Now he looked helplessly at his classmate. "I'm sure I'll faint when I face the Chief," he groaned.
Hifield gave himself a shove and got up from the couch. With a rolling gait he approached Tifflor, his hands, deep in the pockets of his trousers. He was as tall as Tifflor and twice as broad.
With a smirk he appraised his perspiring classmate. "I always say that daydreamers are unfit to go into outer space. Before you leave, I need the shielding field equation on the relation between cosmic micromatter and a superimposed gravitational field. How about it?" Hifield grinned hopefully and let his hands dangle at his sides.
"The bell with it! Why don't you look up the equation yourself?" Tifflor shot back exasperated.
"Don't tell me it's too much work for you," Hifield said menacingly. "You've got a full hour. My class starts in 30 minutes."
"Wouldn't you love to push in the face of this poor mathematician?" Eberhardt broke in, swinging his stout body around. Hifield's eyes looked grim.
"You keep out of it, fatso!" Hifield threatened. "When I talk, you just listen! Is that clear?"
